A STROKE OF LUCK.
"Something has got to be done," said the young advance agent.
"Everything possible has been done," returned the manager, pettishly.
"The amount of the thing is that we have struck an unlucky night, and
there's no help for it."
"Maybe there is," said Al, quietly. "I mean to have a big house
to-morrow night somehow or other."
The manager laughed sarcastically.
"I've heard beginners like you talk before," he said. "You think you are
going to set the river on fire, but the river is not inflammable. I
admire your nerve. I've heard how you drummed up business in Boomville,
and you did well. But you can't do that sort of thing all the time. My
friend, Wattles, wrote and told me that you would work things so that
the house would be full when his company played, but he made a mistake
that time."
"Did Mr. Wattles say that?" cried Al.
"He did; and I was surprised at it, for Wattles is not usually a very
sanguine man."
"If he said it, I'll do it," announced the boy.
Again his companion laughed.
"There's nothing like youthful enthusiasm," he said, "and I acknowledge
that it cuts lots of ice at times--but not every time. You might as well
try to square the circle as to get a crowd here to-morrow evening. It
can't be done."
"We'll see," responded Al, with the most confident air he could assume.
The task before him was a hard one, apparently an impossible one, but he
resolved that he would try to accomplish it.
"Sail ahead, and do it if you can," said the manager, with something
very much like a sneer. "I shall watch your methods with interest."
"It's a pity," said Al, "that you have only one morning paper here. Now
if----"
"Oh," interrupted his companion, yawning, "we'll have another to-morrow
morning."
"How is that?"
"A young dude named Marcus, with more money than brains--and not very
much of either, by the way--is to issue the first number of a new daily
to-morrow morning. He is going to call it the _Bugle_, I believe."
"It being the first issue," suggested Al, "it is likely to have a good
sale. Wouldn't it be a good scheme to spend a little extra in
advertising in it?"
"My lad," said the manager, wearily, "your ideas are primitive in the
extreme. I have given them my usual size ad., and even if I wanted any
more space--which I don't--I couldn't get it, for the paper is about all
made up now. Oh, we can't do anything against the circus, and that
settles that matter."
It did not settle the matter with Al, however. He returned to his
hotel, and spent what was left of the afternoon in trying to devise some
plan to arouse public interest in the performance of the New York Comedy
Company.
He worked at the problem until his head ached, but the harder he thought
the farther he seemed to be from a solution.
In the evening he went down to the restaurant connected with the hotel,
quite discouraged.
There was no one in the room when he entered; but a few minutes later
two men, both of them evidently very much excited, came in and seated
themselves near him.
After a glance at the boy and a hurried order to the waiter, they
resumed a conversation in which they had been engaged when they entered.
Al could not help overhearing nearly every word they said, for in their
excitement they spoke louder than they thought.
"I tell you, Marcus," he heard one of the men say, "it's a bad
knockout."
Marcus! Al remembered that this was the name of the proprietor of the
new paper. He was, as the manager had said, a rather dudish-looking
young fellow, but his face was by no means indicative of a lack of
brains.
"The worst of it is," added Mr. Marcus, "that the _Banner_ people will
have the grand laugh on us. They have been poking fun at the 'amateur
daily,' as they call it, ever since the _Bugle_ was announced; now they
will go for us."
Al was now interested; for the time he forgot his own worries. What
could the trouble be in the office of the new paper?
"They'll have a good chance," said Mr. Marcus' friend. "Really, my dear
sir, I can't see how you could have made such a break. The idea of
accepting a full-page ad. for 'Dr. Gurgles' Metallic Liver Pads,' only
to find that there is no such thing on the market, and that you have
been made the victim of a practical joker! I wish I had had charge of
the business end of the thing, this would not have happened."
"I dare say not, but don't reproach me, for I'm too much broken up to
stand it. The question is, how are we going to fill up that page? I've
been boasting, right and left, about the phenomenal amount of bona-fide
ads. the first number of the _Bugle_ would contain, and now we are a
full page short. And I've told a number of people that we were to have a
page ad. from a well-known concern--something the _Banner_ never had."
"Have you told anyone what the concern was?"
"No."
"Then perhaps you could get some firm in town to take the page."
"I'd let 'em have it at any price. But, no, it wouldn't do; I should
have to own up how I had been victimized. Besides, it's too late now,
anyhow. Why, nearly the whole paper is in type, and one side is
printed."
"Well, what are you going to do with that page?"
"I give it up."
Al rose from his seat and approached the table where the two gentlemen
were seated.
"Perhaps I can help out, sir," he said.
Mr. Marcus started from his chair, his face flushed with anger.
"You've been listening, boy!" he exclaimed.
"I have; I couldn't very well help it, for you spoke in a loud tone."
"That's so, Marcus," added the other gentleman. "A public restaurant is
not just the place to talk over such a matter."
"Well," said Marcus, glaring at Al, "I suppose you mean to go and tell
everyone in town what you have heard?"
"I don't know anyone in town, and if I did I shouldn't repeat a word. As
I just said, I think I can help you out."
"You! How?"
"You said you'd let that page go at any price?"
"I did."
"Perhaps I will take it. I couldn't afford to do anything like regular
rates, but perhaps by helping you out I can get a lot of advertising
almost free. I tell you frankly that is my object, and I give you my
word that no one shall know anything about the transaction."
Mr. Marcus and his companion stared at Al in amazement.
"Well," said the former, "you are a queer youngster. Who the mischief
are you--another practical joker?"
"No. I am Allen Allston, advance agent of Wattles' New York Comedy
Company, which plays here to-morrow night."
"A lad like you occupying a position like that?" exclaimed Mr. Marcus.
"Just so, sir. Now, what will you let us have that page for?"
"Perhaps your employer would repudiate the bill."
"I'll pay it myself, right here and now."
"I'll take you up. You can have the page for one hundred dollars. When
can I have the copy?"
"Not at all at that price," replied Al, coolly. "The page wouldn't be
worth that much to us. I'll give you fifty dollars, cash now, and the
copy in an hour or less."
After a moment's hesitation, the proprietor of the _Bugle_ said:
"Done! Give me the fifty dollars, and I'll give you a receipt for four
hundred. But mind, mum's the word about this deal."
"You may depend upon me, sir."
"But," asked Mr. Marcus, "how are you going to have a full page of copy
ready in an hour?"
"I'll get it ready," replied Al. "Your foreman will have it on time."
He handed the publisher the fifty dollars, and received a receipt for
four hundred.
"Well," said Mr. Marcus, "you have a head for business, and no mistake."
"I hope so," said Al, modestly; "but this transaction does not prove
it."
"I think it does."
"My overhearing your conversation was only blind luck."
"Yes; but many a man would not have been smart and quick enough to take
advantage of it. The successful business man is he who seizes upon the
lucky accidents that others pass by, and turns them to his own
advantage. You'll get along, my boy."